9/02/2009 @ 6:00PM

A City In The Air

I spent my first week in Hong Kong searching for life at street level.

This city, a curious and intoxicating mix of Western and Chinese decadence and degradation, seems to be designed for creatures who prefer to live aerially. I am by no means an acrophobe. But I arrived with a strong desire to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, to take in the sights from that sturdy vantage point.

It was not meant to be. Here, in this metropole of 7 million surrounded by water, aboveground air-conditioned walkways connect far-flung buildings. Commercial buildings are dozens of stories high, as are residential towers. My office is on the 18th floor; my apartment, the 24th.

There’s a peak at the center of the island, and all the roads wind up to it, serpentine in their sharp switchbacks, from the bustling harbor to the craggy top. A series of escalators–the world’s longest outdoor covered one, or some such–carries the affluent expatriates up the mountain to their tiny, overpriced penthouse apartments. Of course, you’re paying for that view from on high, paying to live perched above the teeming masses that crowd the streets of Central, vying for designer goods and dirt-cheap street food.

Rents may be high, but cabs are cheap. They whiz and weave across elevated expressways. What’s more, many buses and trams are double-decker. Taking a seat on top during the morning commute made me a bit queasy. A cable car, suspended on what looks like a thin wire, takes tourists to see the Big Buddha. (Which, it should be said, has also nabbed a superlative. It’s the largest outdoor seated bronze one of its kind.)

When residents here aren’t aboveground, they’re subterranean. Case in point: I walked to a delicious dim sum lunch with co-workers by traipsing underground from one subway station to another. We did not actually board the train. We just used its tunnels because fighting the crowds on the sidewalk was too hot, too difficult.

When I attempted to use these sidewalks for their intended purpose, I was stymied by waist-high gates and a severe dearth of crosswalks. There I was, trapped on a corner, with nowhere to go but up some steps, in order to cross the street some 30 feet above it, and then clamber down another set of steps. I was, needless to say, unable to get to the bank before it closed.

Here, skyscrapers are landmarks. Street signs are somewhat unhelpful when it comes to navigational aid, so high-rises mark out the cardinal directions. This hunk of steel is east; this one, west. They’re built with feng shui in mind, and adorned with an epileptic array of flashing lights and LCD screens. The Empire State Building changes the colors at its apex every few days. By contrast, Central Plaza, the second-tallest skyscraper in Hong Kong, rotates through a neon rainbow all over its facade every few seconds.

I’m getting used to the altitude of life here. I considered it a victory when I did not get lost between the bus stop and my office, gliding through the fluorescent maze of interconnected walkways past at least three office buildings and two megamalls, a Starbucks, a Subway, a 7-Eleven and some Chinese bakeries. But for a few moments getting on and off the bus, my feet didn’t rest on terra firma. It felt empowering somehow.

It’s a bit of a Catch-22. Looking up is dizzying; looking down is vertigo-inducing. My goal remains to, at some point, explore this city on the ground. I hear there’s a lot of grit and sweat, and some homeless people hidden under the highways’ ramps, and more than a few cockroaches. Life at street level is real, and I plan to worm my way in. But now, as I’m settling in, I’m just going to enjoy the view.